Tribute Farm

Memories

Mikk's Gay Glady with her last daughter, Andre Norton

To picture Glady, just visualize Helen Hayes portraying Queen Victoria as a bay Morgan mare. Glady had just those qualities of charisma, regal distance, confidence born of competence, and motherliness.

Glady was my first horse--the one I'd always dreamed of while reading every horse story in the public library of my Chicago suburb growing up. We'd already owned a horse--Tribute, my daughter Meg's gelding--for seven years when we acquired Glady. But she was the first horse to be truly mine.

It was thanks to the drought of 1988 we acquired Glady. On trips to Iowa, we always used to stop and visit the Epleys, Tribute's breeders, on their farm in Solon. We were admiring their broodmares in the pasture when Don Epley mentioned they were having to cut back on stock because of the drought. Pointing to Glady, I commented "There's one I know you'll never sell." "No, she's on the sales list." "No, she's not."

It took us 14 months of payments to purchase Glady--an insane thing to do with Meg starting college. But in December 1989 she and Bobby, our first foal whom she'd borne on Memorial Day, arrived in Wisconsin. From the first day Glady was in charge of the herd. She was only 14.2 hands at the shoulder, but this small bay mare, even in advanced pregnancy, packed a mean kick and nip. No horse on the place dared to approach a human in the field before Glady had her chance at a carrot. Of course, once she had her carrot, she'd dart off before a rope could be put on her, leaving the other horses to be caught.

She even had the humans disciplined. On entering the barn, there would be an imperious nicker from a head thrust over the stall door, demanding her tribute of carrots. If you dared to ignore her, or stopped at another stall on the way to hers, the rump would be turned to face you, and if she were really irritated, the stall would ring with angry kicks. Once homage was paid, however, she was perfectly willing to allow you to indulge other horses--after her preeminence was recognized.

Glady was a truly charismatic mare. Even if she hadn't demanded attention, upon entering the barn your eye would be immediately drawn to the beautifully sculpted head, large-eyed, topped with tiny ears, extended toward you over the door. In motion, she was incomparable. During her show career, her "look-at-me!" attitude ensured she was never out of the ribbons, while even at 20, you could recognize Glady from a quarter-mile away as she pranced out through the hayfields with her "parade walk".

A wonderful broodmare, she raised 9 foals, instilling good manners along with her nutritious milk. A stable owner once commented, "You know, Glady and her offspring are the neatest horses I've ever known--they only soil one corner of their stalls!" Glady did have her standards.

Her motherliness wasn't limited to her foals, either. Put a child aged 6 or under on Glady, and she was the perfect babysitter. She would proceed around the ring at a careful walk, listening to the child's hand on the reins--as long as an adult walked alongside. She didn't need to be on a leadrope, but if an adult didn't walk next to her, she wouldn't move a step with that precious burden. Carrying a small child on her back was the only time you would see Glady "flat-walk".

She was an extremely intelligent mare, who never forgot anything. When I purchased her, at age 14, she had been retired to the broodmare band for 8 years. At 15, I saddled her up for her first ride in 9 years, and she was perfect! Impeccably mannered, she circled the ring, taking the correct cue for each gait. The same thing happened when I harnessed her for her first drive in 10 years--she walked off, pulling the cart, without hesitation.

In the last year of her life, Glady had some reproductive problems, which required flushing her uterus. She would stand like a statue while I held her, the vet's arm inside her up to his elbow. Glady was truly a great lady!

Glady died December 13, 1994, in her 21st year, carrying what would have been her 10th foal. We buried her on a rise where the haymeadow met the woods, and we can visit her on our trailrides. When she died I commended her to the "horsey saints" (Joan of Arc, Martin of Tours, Francis of Assisi) so she would have someone to greet her as she arrived in the heavenly pastures. I told this to a nun friend of mine, Sr. Jean, who told me "Glady and her unborn foal are the true horse-saints, running free over the fields of heaven." That's how I picture Glady, commanding the heavenly fields as she floats over them at the road-trot, a small black stud colt cantering at her side.

(c) 1995 Marsha Valance

To view Glady's immediate ancestors, please click on the highlighted names.