I rode and trained Gray for a year before purchasing him. He belonged to the local riding stable near where we lived in Ireland. The owners tried to talk me out of choosing him as my project, but he reminded me too much of another steel gray rogue horse with squinty eyes that I’d had as a teenager, and with whom I’d developed an incredible bond. When I first began working with Gray, he hated everything involved in being ridden, and made it a practice to dump his riders (including me!) daily. I would come home from the barn, and my (now ex) husband would ask how it went, and I would always reply that I pitied the person who bought this horse. He would either tuck his chin on his chest, open his mouth, and gallop off with you, or put his head straight up in the air, grab the bit, and run. I spent most of my time just gaining his confidence. He was afraid of everything!
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Gradually, we became a team. Many things could cause one of his fits, and one day, as I felt him gather himself for my usual dumping, the image of a cowboy bronc rider came into my head, and I leaned back, shoved my feet in front of me, and “became the cowboy”. I stayed on! He was as shocked as I was. Later, we were hacking on a dirt track bordered by woods on one side, and pastures on the other. In those days, one of Gray’s mortal fears was cattle, and in this field were black and white dairy cattle. They were fenced in electric wire, and the clicking battery box was right next to the track. He couldn’t deal with two monsters, no matter how much I asked, and so turned and bolted. I got him turned around, but he repeated the bolt. The third time, I was running out of strength, and in desperation, turned him into the woods and literally ran him straight into a tree! That stopped him! I had to do it two more times, though, to get him to go past the terrors, and after that, he respected and listened to me much more.
His dislike for being ridden persisted, however, until his first horse trial in the Spring of 1976. By the time we had cleared the third fence cross country, he was eagerly looking for flags, and he never lost his love for the game. He adored running fast and soaring through the air. We started our careers in three day eventing together. He as a timid 6 year old, and me as a 28 year old mother of a 2 ½ year old daughter. The hormones coursing through my body as that mother made my body question what my heart so much wanted to do, but Gray and I made it through that first event with sheer determination, and we beat our combined fear to come in first!
Needless to say, Gray came home with us later that year, along with a half sister of his. We steadily worked our way up through the ranks, despite the facts of living in the mountains of Virginia, no instruction (I read magazines and books voraciously, my husband helped, and I had a lot of good instincts), not having a lot of resources or money, and taking time off between Training Level and Preliminary to have my son. In 1979, Gray and I were the only team to make the time on the cross country course at Lexington KY, over the same course (slightly modified), that the World Championships were held on just the year before. That winter saw us invited to work with the United States Equestrian Team, and we went to compete in Europe with them in 1980.
We both still carried our fears, but totally trusted each other. He knew that I’d never ask him to jump anything I didn’t think he could do, and I knew that he’d somehow find a way to get us out of trouble if we found ourselves in a bad situation. When he put in one of his soaring leaps that left the crowd gasping in shock, I would genuinely feel like we were flying. I talked to him all around the course, telling him the plan, and people all around the world fell in love with this horse who actually listened to his rider, and seemed to slip the bonds of gravity. In 1982 we won The Rolex Three Day Event at Lexington, Kentucky, and became the National Champions.
Later that same year, we came in third individually in the World Championships in Germany; the only horse and rider to bring home an individual medal in all the horse events. We were also part of the bronze medal team. We won those bronze medals under extraordinary circumstances. Six weeks before, I’d had a fall over a fence, and broken two transverse processes on the left side of my spine. It left me in a lot of pain, as well as unable to support myself in a stirrup, or use any pressure on the rein on that side. I recovered sufficiently to compete, but as we were flying around the cross country fences, a huge effort by Gray tore the bones apart again. I suddenly found myself--half way through this course that had already severely challenged the best in the world—without any brakes, and barely any steering. Worse, I couldn’t help Gray when he needed my leverage of body weight, and the hardest fence on the course was the second to last obstacle. He knew exactly what was going on, however, and carried me safely through to the finish line. The next day, when we had to do show jumping, he cleared every fence save one, to win that bronze. Though I was in an extreme amount of pain, my tears that day were all of joy, and of gratitude to my amazing horse.
The Gray Goose thrilled event fans around the world by leaving the ground a stride away from the widest obstacle on the course, and landing a full stride on the other side. He could jump a kitchen chair set in the middle of a field, and his ability to get out of trouble was uncanny. Gray was a true master of his sport, being very good in all three phases, and knowing well the differences in style needed for jumping steeplechase, cross country, and show jumping. He could be compared to Clark Kent when in his stall, as well as while being warmed up on a loose rein. He didn’t look very impressive with his long back, flat feet, and quiet manner. When those reins were picked up, however, he became Superman, and there was no doubt about what he had been born to do.
The Gray Goose loved to teach, but demanded respect from all who interacted with him. His refusal to be dominated taught many to seek other ways of training that involved acknowledging a horse’s dignity and intelligence. He was known to play tricks on those who needed reminding, and could hold a grudge for a very long time. The lessons he taught best, though, were that dreams can indeed come true, where there is a will there is a way over any obstacle, and that trust can transmute fear into courage. He showed the world that heart, determination, and love will win out over conformation any day. And he allowed me to show housewives and mothers everywhere that they, too, could take their riding to the highest levels. He was my partner and best friend for 25 years, and in the process, he shaped my life. His legacy lives on his grand-nephew, Gideon Goodheart, to whom he taught a great deal.
Gray was 26 when I had a severe car accident that precluded my riding for over a year. Until that time, I rode him regularly. Unfortunately, during the time off, arthritis took over in his spine, and he made it clear when I began gently riding him again that it was too uncomfortable for him to continue. For the next few years, he ran mostly loose at the boarding facility where I kept my horses. I started Gideon under his watchful eye. Since Gideon has two crosses back to Gray’s sire, I’ve kept him a stallion. Gray would appear every time I would bring Gideon into the non-fenced arena, and would stand up on the bank, careful to always keep himself between the four year old Gideon and the mare that was turned out there. When I began jumping Gideon, Gray would come right down into the arena. If he was in our way, I would ask him to move to a certain spot, and he would go there. Needless to say, it amazed people that he would do as I verbally requested, but event fans wouldn’t have been surprised, since I always talked to him over the courses. He did a lot to open people’s minds to interspecies communication! If I needed Gideon to jump differently, I would ask Gray to explain it to him, and Gideon’s technique would immediately change. It was very obvious that Gray wanted to impress Gideon with how important it was to take care of me, and Gideon has learned that lesson very well.
Gray would also play practical jokes on people. He would manage to sneak up on them (how does a 1,000 lb horse sneak up on someone with gravel underfoot?), and then startle the stuffing out of them. I had a hard time believing this until he did it not only to me, but to Gideon as well! He could walk absolutely silently over gravel and concrete when he wanted to. He would also turn on the barn lights at night, and then began to find ways to open the Senior feed can, in spite of it being bungee corded shut. Obviously, after a while, he lost his privilege of running loose.
Gray was still squealing with joy at the age of 30. When a series of strokes came to claim him on June 17th, 2000, he died with dignity and grace, his head in my lap. His body was cremated, and his ashes were buried in a moving ceremony at the Rolex Three Day Event the following April. The Kentucky Horse Park was always his most favorite place to compete, and I know that he watches over every competitor at The Head of the Lake, just down the hill from his gravesite. There, I’m sure his spirit still soars, as he continues to inspire future generations.
