Gunner Read online

  Dedicated to my Nanny, Ina York.

  I want to see the funny side of life forever,

  just like you do.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to everyone who so graciously shared their stories of this remarkable horse with me. Although this is a fairly simple story, it turned out to be one of the more difficult research projects I’ve taken on, mainly due to the tumultuous circumstances the Lott-Goodwin family has endured in the past few years. Heather, I am so grateful that you finally said yes, and that you stuck it out for the many weeks of endless questions. Gunner’s story is very worth sharing, and I hope in some way it helps you to have it in book form.

  Thanks also to the American Paint Horse Association for all the valuable information you have available about Paint horses and the major shows and with your assistance in locating the Lott-Goodwins. Maria Lott, thank you for sharing the story from your perspective. Heather is very lucky to have you on her side. Thanks to Brent Becknow and Mike Stable for adding your voices and memories of your experiences with Heather and Gunner. I have to say thanks, too, to Bryan Shoemaker, for your great sense of humor and for helping Mike navigate the “scary computer.” Robert Owens, thank you so much for sharing your photos of Gunner. You helped make the book extra special.

  A long overdue thank you goes out to David Parkins who has illustrated each of my books, and has done a wonderful job on this one. I’ve never met or spoken to you David, but you are a part of this writing journey of mine, and I am grateful for all you’ve done.

  Finally, I would like to express my very deep gratitude to all of you at Tundra Books who have worked so hard at helping me realize the dream of seeing my stories in print. It’s been an absolute pleasure working with you.

  Contents

  1 Unwanted

  2 Changing

  3 Show Horse

  4 All Round Champ

  5 The Week of Katrina

  6 Lost in the Storm

  7 Found

  8 The Long Road Forward

  9 A True Champion

  Epilogue

  Heather Lott-Goodwin disliked the homely, potbellied runt of a colt from the first moment she watched it leap awkwardly off the trailer after it’s mother. He was a golden chestnut with high, white stockings on all four legs and a bold, white face, but his hide was so coated with grunge that is was hard to tell where the brown stopped and the white began.

  Heather sighed as she recognized yet another good-for-nothing horse. They’d be stuck with paying more for feed than it was worth, then not being able to sell it later. E.W. was always bringing home these misfits!

  She scowled at her husband when he handed her the mare’s lead rope so that he could unload the cow that had been included in the trade he had made with a local horse breeder. He had driven to J.C. Horses in Laurel, Mississippi, not far from their own ranch, that afternoon to make a deal on some haying equipment. The breeder was going out of business, and E.W. was always on the lookout for a good deal. It was the mare E.W. wanted. She was a nice, little American Paint with pretty markings and surprisingly good bloodlines – a nice addition to his broodmare band. She just happened to have this colt, and so he brought him home too.

  While E.W. unloaded the cow, Heather had her hands full trying to keep the mare calm while the colt wandered and explored, instead of staying at her side the way any self-respecting baby would in a strange environment. This was obviously not a well-behaved son, though, and he soon had his mother frantically whinnying, twisting and turning at the end of the lead rope, trying to keep track of where he had gone.

  Heather was so focused on calming the mare that she didn’t even notice the colt come up behind her, but he got her attention soon enough when he scampered in, bit her on the behind, and darted back. Heather let out a yell of pain and surprise and spun around find him standing just out of reach, head turned to watch her intently with his one fierce, blue eye. If she had disliked the look of him before, she now disliked his bratty personality even more and didn’t trust him one bit. Rubbing her sore bottom, she was soon giving E.W. an earful about bringing home such unpleasant animals … again! And E.W. was laughing.

  Life had changed drastically for that mischievous foal that afternoon, although he didn’t know it yet. He had spent his first months at his dam’s side in a small yard with several other farm animals, existing in mud and boredom. He had never been handled, although he was quite accustomed to humans and had no fear of them. He would approach people boldly enough, accept the scratches and rubs and occasional treats they supplied. To him, they were simply playthings.

  No one had ever tried to halter him or train him in any way. Moreover, his playfulness had made his first owners a bit nervous of him; his naturally dominant, coltish behaviors had been unwittingly rewarded. A quick nip or kick could send those human “playmates” scurrying. This was normal horseplay, but didn’t make for great horse-human relations. It was, however, endlessly amusing to the bored youngster.

  Being loaded onto the big, dark stock trailer was the first frightening experience in his young life, and it had taken a bit of herding and persuasion to get him to jump into the noisy box after his mother. He had huddled near her side when the door banged shut behind them, and had trembled violently when the engine roared to life, making the darkness move beneath his feet. But he soon became accustomed to the swaying and bumping of the trailer and, true to his nature, his fear had turned to mischievous curiosity by the time they had reached their destination.

  Such an interesting place they had come to! He could smell other horses, and lots of other animals. Fields and forests stretched out as far as his eyes could see. This was a ranch of over two thousand acres, with more green, open space then he had ever seen. The spirited little soul was yearning to explore, but he soon realized that his dam was not able to follow. As adventurous as he was, he was still very young and looked to his mother for safety, and so he turned his attention on the “playmates” close at hand.

  The human at his mother’s head was interesting – a small, dark-haired woman with a strong voice and a feeling of “leader,” which was something he’d never noticed in these humans before.

  Surprisingly, she paid him little attention. She barely looked at him, and she didn’t try to reach out and touch or scratch him like most of the other humans he had known. She didn’t jump away as he approached her … in fact, she seemed to be ignoring him completely. His little stud-colt heart took this as a challenge, and he decided that this human needed to know who was top pony here.

  Instead of running away when he sank his teeth into her, she spun and faced him, even taking a step toward him. For the first time in his young life, he didn’t dare approach for another try. Her look told him that she, in fact, was the top pony around here, and he’d better not mess with her. Instinct told him to respect this, and he was too young to challenge it. He sniffed the air, gathering her scent, and watched her closely. He’d have to remember this one!

  “Let’s just put them in the paddock here for now,” E.W. suggested, ignoring Heather’s tirade about the colt.

  “What on earth are we going to do with that sassy little thing?” Heather protested. “He looks like he’s full of worms. He should have shed that shaggy baby coat by now. And don’t even get me started on his attitude …”

  E.W. watched him quietly, as the colt explored the perimeter of the new paddock. If you looked past the grime and the wormy belly and the baby hair, there were fine, straight legs, a broad chest, a pretty head set on a well-formed, nicely arched neck, and intelligent, quick eyes. It was true, he did look a little worse for wear right now, but E.W. wasn’t worried. He had the mare; the colt was not a big concern to him.

  “The colt’s old enough to be weaned. I think we’ll le
t them settle, then get him ready to go out with the other weanlings right away. He’ll make a decent little roping horse in a couple of years. He just needs good pasture and time to develop. He’ll be nicer than you think.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that before,” she mumbled, as she turned away from the paddock and walked to the house, rubbing her bruised rump as she went.

  That evening, the mare was led to the barn, colt in tow, and into a roomy box stall, deeply bedded with sweet-smelling straw. E.W. quickly led the mare back out, and before the colt could follow, Heather closed the door. The mare was instantly upset, attempting to return to her young son, but E.W. coaxed her away from the barn and to a pasture as far from the area as he could take her.

  Inside the barn, all hell had broken loose. At first the colt had simply stood, statue still, straining to hear his mother’s voice. But as it faded and he could no longer see her, he became frantic, storming around the stall, charging the door, filling the barn with his desperate cries. It would be one of the longest and most miserable nights of his life, a night where snuggling close to his dam’s side and nursing would have been the best thing to do, had she been there. He had never been alone. There was no mischief in him now. He was pure misery, and even Heather felt sorry for him.

  His pitiful cries continued through the night. By morning his voice was hoarse and his pacing slowed by exhaustion. He welcomed the comforting touches of another creature when E.W. rubbed his neck and soothed him, and he drank deeply from the bucket of water in the kind man’s hands. He showed little interest in his food, however, and after a short rest, was straining to see over the stall door again, searching for any sign of his mother.

  He had quieted considerably by later that day, and E.W. decided he would be better off out with the other colts and fillies. The pasture he found himself in was wonderful, enough to spark even the most unhappy colt’s interest. It was at least forty acres of rolling grasslands and forest just waiting to be explored. A band of unruly weanlings were already there, waiting for him to come play. E.W. had picked up several babies from a breeder in north Mississippi a few weeks earlier, and a couple more from a local auction. It was now late August 1999, and the colt was the last to join the herd. They would be left to grow for a year or so before being trained then either worked on the ranch, or resold.

  Heather had very little to do with the colt in the year that followed, although every time their paths would cross, she was reminded of why she disliked him so much. If she went with E.W. to check on cows or put out feed for the young horses, the colt would always find ways to challenge and annoy her. She felt his teeth again one day at the feed trough. Given the chance, he’d splash her with water, or kick out at her as he ran past. With every incident, E.W. would get an earful about “that colt.” All through that winter, E.W. heard a thousand reasons why they could do without a horse like him. The colt was odd looking, growing faster at one end than the other, unbalanced and bad tempered and … it went on and on.

  E.W. was soon convinced that this was just the right horse for his lively young wife to work with. He didn’t tell her so yet, though. She was carrying their first baby that winter, and he was in no rush.

  Heather had grown up on horseback and was a fearless, talented show rider. Her father, Morris Lott, had been a jockey, until a back injury forced him to turn in his silks and try his hand at show horses and judging. He had established a show stable in Diamond Head, Mississippi, and had raised his family, along with over two hundred horses, on his impressive property. He was a dedicated horseman and Heather had grown up with horses in her blood.

  Heather’s mother, Maria, had supported her husband’s endeavors whole-heartedly, although she was not a horsewoman when they first met. She was soon heavily involved though, showing and caring for the animals and her family, as well as pursuing her own career in education.

  Eventually, Morris and Maria had downsized, moving to a small farm in Picayune, Mississippi, to be closer to where Heather was attending school. Their stable was drastically reduced to just a handful of horses.

  E.W. had also grown up with horses and farming, having taken over his grandfather’s ranch while still in high school. It had been overgrown and run-down when he had moved there, but by the time he met Heather and convinced her to marry earlier that year, it was a productive, working ranch, and a place where they looked forward to raising a family of their own.

  E.W. felt certain that Heather could not only manage this colt, but somehow needed to.

  E.W. began training the youngsters from the yearling herd the following spring, starting with the oldest and most developed animals, and leaving the colt until last. He was still runty and needed time to grow. E.W. was just getting these babies started – asking little more than their acceptance of handling, the halter, bridle, saddle and a rider. They were too young to work yet, but he liked to put a foundation on them before they were much older. It was easier to sell them that way, or to work with them later.

  Heather had developed problems with her pregnancy early that spring. This first baby of theirs was eager to be born, far too soon for safety. Heather was put on complete bed rest. Any excessive activity or excitement could cause her to go into premature labor. That’s why she was not involved when the colt was pulled from the big pasture, and E.W. started to work with him.

  She could not be left alone for any length of time, so her father started coming to stay with her during the day while E.W. worked. He kept her apprised of the progress being made with the young horses and the workings of the ranch and helped her cope with the restlessness that nearly drove her insane for the next month. When her father mentioned that E.W. had brought in a little Paint colt to start, Heather screwed up her face in disgust. “Waste of energy, that one,” she predicted. “He shouldn’t have brought him home in the first place.”

  A month later, Heather was allowed out of bed, but she remained housebound, allowed only as far as the front porch. From her seat on that porch, she had a full view of the paddock, the barns, and the round pen, where E.W. did most of his work with the young horses. Her father would sit beside her, calling out advice to his son-in-law as he worked with a particular horse. For Heather, this was infinitely better than being in bed.

  When her birthday arrived, Heather was heavy, housebound, and a little cranky. E.W. kissed her that morning before heading out to care for the livestock, but did not leave her a gift, or suggest that one was coming. Throughout the day, not a word was mentioned about it being her birthday, and despite her greatest efforts to ignore this, by that afternoon, she was feeling hurt and upset that her husband could have forgotten.

  That evening, E.W. asked her to come for a short truck ride to the barn to see something. She was not allowed to walk far, but could be driven for short distances. She reluctantly agreed.

  E.W. parked outside the horse barn and turned to her with a playful smile. “Bet you thought I forgot your birthday, huh?”

  She couldn’t help but smile back, wondering what he had up his sleeve. “I was just about ready to tell you that you’d be sleeping on the couch tonight,” she admitted.

  “Well, I didn’t forget,” he said. “I was keeping this a surprise until just the right time.” He held out an envelope, which she took from him eagerly.

  Inside was a set of papers, and it took a moment before she realized what it meant. They were registration papers for a new horse … a sorrel overo Paint colt. Her eyes were excited when she looked up at E.W. again. He grinned and said, “Thought you could use a project to look forward to. Wait here.”

  When E.W. came out of the barn, leading her new colt, Heather’s excitement turned to disbelief and anger in an instant. At the end of the lead rope was the shaggy-coated, disproportioned, ugly colt that she’d been complaining about all winter. He couldn’t possibly be serious. This was her birthday present?

  That night, E.W. slept on the couch!

  For the rest of that month, Heather watched
from the porch as E.W. started working with “her” colt, teaching him basic verbal commands on the lunge line in the round pen, handling him until he became accustomed to having his feet and body touched all over.

  The colt was not as passive and ready to submit to new things as some of the other youngsters had been, and he was a real challenge for E.W. He fought the halter, preferring to go his own way. He shied at E.W.’s touch. He bucked at the feel of the saddlecloth on his back. He was spirited and stubborn and, being a natural herd leader, he was used to having things his own way. He didn’t like the idea of giving in to these humans who used to be so easy to intimidate.

  E.W., in his quiet way, brought him around, patiently but firmly, and although the colt continued to be mischievous and, at times difficult, he was learning his lessons well. When E.W. wasn’t annoyed with him, he was impressed by him. This was a smart colt, probably one of the nicest he had started that summer. And he knew that his wife, set as she was against him, was seeing the very same thing.

  Often, when the colt was in his paddock and Heather was in her chair on the porch, the young horse would come to the fence, sniff the air, and just stand and watch her with that one blue eye.

  One day, annoyed, she stomped a foot at him and shouted, “What are you looking at?”

  Startled, he leaped back from the fence a few feet, then came right back with a deep whinny, as though answering her challenge.

  She waved a hand at him. “Scat!”

  He circled and returned to the fence, shaking his head, striking with his front hooves, and whinnying again. It was the first “conversation” they had, the first of many to follow in the weeks to come. It became a game that kept them both amused and occupied during long hours of confinement – and the beginning of a very special relationship.

  There were days when Heather was confined to her bed again, and on those days E.W. would complain about how destructive and obnoxious the colt could be. He almost seemed to be missing her and letting the world know all about it. When Heather would return to her chair on the porch and their little game could commence, the colt became cooperative again.