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Arabian Horse Stories
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Ali, My Friend Forever
By Roger Deutsch
Over the past years I have told many people stories about my Arabian horse, Ali. It hurts to relive some of those days because Ali is gone now, but it also feels good to honor his memory.
I met Ali in Davie, Florida. He was a Crabbet Arabian. I was a real city slicker and didn't know much about horses. I did know that this horse caught my eye, or perhaps I caught his. The first time I climbed upon Ali's back I was white knuckled and terrified-it was a bit of a circus! After two walks around the corral I was still shaking like a leaf on an oak tree and was wondering what I was doing on the back of a horse that was known to be a bit nutty. Regardless, there was something about the challenge of it all that I liked and when the owner told me Ali was probably headed to slaughter I made an instant decision that he would go home with me.
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Once home, a professional trainer tried to break Ali of his many bad habits that seemed to stem from the fact that he didn't like people. After a month, I brought Ali home, where I had made him a nice corral and he began to relax a bit. Still, my friends warned me that Ali was out to kill me-hating the world! The challenge ahead was to find the beautiful attitude inside this beautiful horse.
I had to create a situation where the horse would trust me. Every morning I went to the corral with carrots. Ali would stomp and make all kinds of threatening noises to let me know that he didn't want any part of me-he was very clear. Finally, after two weeks of me at one end of the corral with carrots and Ali at the other, he slowly started in my direction. He started at me cautiously, as I did him. Part of me was scared that with one flash, he would stomp on my chest, but to my surprise he didn't seem to have his usual threatening attitude. Eventually, he was a foot from the carrots. Was this the big stand off? The voices in my head reminded me of my friends saying, "This horse is not for you." For twenty minutes, we both stood there looking at each other. I'm sure he could hear my heart beating-I sure did. Ali finally took a nibble at the carrots and put his forehead on my chest while munching slowly. I figured he probably wanted to trust someone, so I rubbed him all over his eyes, mouth and chest without moving my position. I said his name in a whisper. Ali finished one carrot, gave a big sigh and then put his head on my shoulder. At that moment, we bonded for life. This wonderful horse got to me and I got to him.
After a few days passed, I put a saddle on him with a snaffle bit and was very light with reins. He was neck reining just great. I had to stay light on his mouth, using the utmost care to undo what many riders did to him, roughing him up.
After all the years we were together, Ali was like a big puppy. We enjoyed barrel racing, and other arena events. He was so much better at these events than me. Never did I ever use a crop to make him go faster. He was like the wind with a free spirit. Other Arabian horse owners-I'm sure-have experienced this same feeling. Ali was so attached to me that when we went to arena events, he would carry on, whinnying and stomping when I left him alone outside the trailer. For fun and games, we would ride three miles to a huge arena. We had to cross a six lane roadway. Ali, without any commands from me, would always look out for the traffic, turning his head to the left and right. After there was no traffic in sight, he would then walk around "strutting his stuff," as to let me know he knew what he was doing. When we reached the arena, I would take the saddle and bridle off and would play with him. On command he would trot, walk, canter, back up, stand, stay, come to me on command, take a bow, and say his prayers. We both learned so much.
One day I made a rookie mistake when riding along with twelve other riders. I happen to be behind a horse with a red ribbon on its tail, not knowing the ribbon was a symbol that meant the horse was a kicker. Somehow Ali knew something was going to happen. And in an instant, he turned sideways to take the full kick in the stomach, saving me from getting kicked in the foot. What a horse; and what a fool I was.
I got Ali when he was about six years of age and he was put down at the age of thirty-two with cancer and kidney failure. It was hard to bear my friends hurt. However great memories will prevail for as long as I believe he's running with the clouds. My Ali, my love, forever lives with me.
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