Yes, I own three mares. Or, more accurately, three mares own me. Yes, the latter is it. Mares are different than geldings, and this is an understatement. They are willful and tend to make it known what it is that they need/require/want/desire/wish for, whether the saddle is or isn’t on their back. What this owner may think or want is of no consequence to them. I am their chauffer, chambermaid, and fitness coach. And I damn well better do a good job or they will refuse to pretend to listen to me.

Geldings are a different matter entirely. They are male horses who have had their balls lopped off with a piece of equipment that looks like a large pair of nippers. It’s a brutal procedure, but in most cases necessary because stallions are mares turned inside out. They’re all reliable; that is, until a mare in season crosses their path. Then it’s all balls out.

Alys and Tinni cross Moose Creek

We had two geldings here, Mr. Siggi and Tinni. I can’t say that they were eager to please, but both, with no questions asked, would get me from point A to point B in a reliable fashion. There was no negotiating, as there is with the mares. I with my head up asked either to cross a creek and they’d comply.

Once Mr. Siggi refused to cross a particularly fast moving and deep creek. A fellow rider, who fancied himself to be dog’s gift to the horse world, clipped a lead rope to Mr. Siggi’s halter, climbed on Tinni, and with a squeeze of his legs, told the latter to move forward. Tinni did this without hesitation, this after glancing back in order to ascertain who it was he was being asked to yank across the creek. He entered the water. The line grew tight. It was as Mr. Siggi’s neck stretched uncomfortably far that he realized he had no choice and he entered the creek.

I was well aware that what we were dealing with here was Icelandic horses – in Iceland, they do not have a word for pony, so although small of stature they are expected to do as do horses. They have been known to do the equivalent of leaping off tall buildings in a single bound.

Tinni hopped off the bank, into the murky maelstrom, and Mr. Siggi followed. I was on the far bank, watching. Raudi had not hesitated when I asked her to cross the creek. The sound of the rushing water was deafening, and I squelched fear by focusing my gaze on the far shore.

We both stood and watched as the two geldings moved with the current, slowly downstream. At the steepest and most fast moving portion of the creek, Tinni’s head went under water. I gasped, thinking that he would not surface. He did. Mr. Siggi bobbed behind him, wide eyed, nostrils flared.

Both made it to shore and the rider, proud of what he saw as an accomplishment, unwrapped Mr. Siggi’s rope from the saddle horn and handed it to me. Another cowboy ponied this fellow’s quarter horse across the creek. Both stock horses struggled some, but pretty much stayed on course.

Once across, we all headed down trail, in the direction of home.

I didn’t say anything, but the obvious hero of the day was Tinni, a 25 year old black gelding who always did as asked. If he had reservations about what he was asked to do on this cold September day, he did not make them known. This is what I liked most about him. That mares get the job done if they feel like it, and geldings get the job done when asked, is what I like about both.

Next: 171. 6/24/26: Go, go, go