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For many years now, I purchase a wall calendar with photos of only horses. The July 2009 photo is of a beautiful strawberry roan.  I checked “July” many times and on each occasion, I still would remember a strawberry roan of my cowboy youth.
 
For those old enough to remember, there was a western song of the forties called “That Strawberry Roan.”   It was a song of a wild bronco and ended with:

And it’s, oh, that strawberry roan, oh, that strawberry roan,
They say he’s an outlaw that’s never been rode,
The guy that gets on him is sure to be throwed,
Throwed off that strawberry roan.
 
I remember that evening in the late fall under a gray sky.  The trees had lost their leaves and a cool wind was blowing, just before dark. I was eleven years of age and we lived on a farm west of Bonner Springs then.

My older brother Rueben had taken on a new job a few weeks before as a farm-hand about three miles away.  Rueben was now riding a horse and held onto the reins of our horse, whose name was Dynamite.  This was a strange sight to me.  Dynamite was always a picture of energy and movement, but now he moved slowly, with a slight limp.  Rueben was riding a strawberry roan mare.
 
I ran alongside asking what had happened.  Rueben riding atop the mare explained that Dynamite at some point in the day had hurt his foot and the boss had lent him the mare to use temporarily.
 
As I watched and helped remove saddles, I did start comparing the two horses.  The mare had the beautiful red-tinged color of the standard strawberry roan and she had a white blaze on her face.  While Dynamite was muscular and aggressive, the mare to me was not impressive.  She was a bit thin and I thought she would be awkward because her legs appeared to be too long in proportion to the rest of her body.  Dynamite had an A-type personality with fire in his eyes, while the mare had a gentle disposition with the softest brown eyes I had ever seen in a horse.
 
Rueben had decided that he wanted a job that paid more than a ranch-hand, so on Monday I was to return the Strawberry Roan to its owner and then walk back home. So I would attend to the mare for two days.
 
On Sunday, I decided to take the strawberry roan for a ride in the afternoon.  As I walked into the pasture with a bridle, I could see Dynamite off to him self.  He was not moving much and appeared to be in a bad mood.  This was not the Dynamite which I had grown accustomed to.  Knowing him for some time, he most likely hurt himself by showing off in front of the other horses. (CLICK READ MORE)

I took great pride in my horse Dynamite.  He was the fastest of any horse in the area and could not stand any horse being in front of him – especially when racing.  But on occasion when I would be standing next to him talking with someone, he would bash me in the back with his head.  I always felt that he wanted me to conduct myself with style. I always felt as though dynamite was training me to be more alert and aggressive.  He some times would bash me in the back, step on my foot, swish his heavy tail across my face or take off running out of control – with me fighting frantically trying to stay in the saddle.  I remember one time I could not get him to stop as he galloped at full speed across a field and then ran under a tree where I was almost knocked off.
 
On that Sunday, I was riding the Strawberry Roan.  It was strange, but she obeyed instructions instantly.  I tapped her lightly on the shoulder and she immediately was in a smooth trot.  I then tapped her again and then I could not believe how smooth and without effort the mare was moving along.  I had no idea a horse could run so fast and not give the rider a jarring effect.  I was used to riding Dynamite, who when running fast would give the rider a shaking effect as his hooves dug into the ground – sending dirt flying.  On that day, the mare would slow down, turn – or stop on command.
 
On Monday after school, the time had come to return the mare to her owner.  I still do not remember her name.  As I went into the pasture the Strawberry Roan immediately came up to me.  She had grown used to me now.  I placed the bridle on and then led her to the barn.  I gave her some oats in a bucket, had water for her, brushed her mane and placed a saddle on the mare before we started off.  This was now getting difficult.  I was going to miss the mare but I had to return her to her owner. With her there were no annoying episodes or surprises. The strawberry roan was not physically the perfect horse, but she had style and that meant a lot.
 
I remember about 30 minutes later we were at the ranch where the mare belonged.  She knew she was back as her owner came by and he started removing the saddle to let her into his pasture.  He asked me to wait for a bit and he would drive me home, but I thanked him and declined.  I told him I wanted to stop by and visit my friends the Knipp family who lived near-by.  I could see the Strawberry Roan watching me as I walked away.  It may have seemed strange, but I held up my right arm in acknowledgement.
 
During a brief stay in an area hospital in the 70s, I was room mates with a man who also loved horses.  He had a small farm in central Kansas.  He confided in me that he had found the perfect horse.  He owned a mare and housed her on his farm where the mare was treated with extreme care. 

He love the horse so much that he hope to live many years to see many generations of the mare’s babies.  Even if he was old and bed-ridden, he wanted to be able to look outside his window and see the descendants of his beloved mare.
 
We had spoken about our love for horses for a long period of time before I left for home.  He had to stay, but he felt good.  He knew that I would understand.  I can only hope that his dreams came true.
 
Note:  The Strawberry Hill Museum located at 720 N. 4th Street will be open on Saturday and Sunday until January 31st – from noon until 5 PM.  Admission is 7.00 for adults and 3.00 for children.  Caminos visited there recently and the tour is definitely worth the trip. The cultures of Africa, Croatia, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Luthiana, Mexico, Poland Slovenia and many other countries are on exhibit. Be sure to visit the chapel.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.