A Lifetime With Arabians, printed in Arabian Horse Times

Looking back to February 2010

A LIFETIME WITH HORSES, by Sheila Varian

A Lifetime W ith Ar Ronteza, Part III

abians

by Sh eil a Va ria n W hen we last saw Ronteza in part II of her story (see Januar y 2010, pag as now, when I fin e 271), it was a Fri ish a horse in a spa day night in Octob 1961, and she and de or half-breed er bit—I mean a horse I had just won the that is completely Lig ht We ight class for reined cow horse finished—I do no go back to a hackamore s at the Cow Palace t or a different traini . As I mentioned then, that competitio ng bit. Once the horse is solid in n at the Cow Palace a spa de ’s or Gr sha and nked curb bit, they’v Rodeo was the gra National spent several years nddaddy of events e in preparation, and for reined cow horse in those days. No when they are as s good as I can get the Arabian and no wo m, ma the n n had I rid wo e in the bit that the n it at the time Ronteza and work best in. y like and I topped the Lig ht Weight division, so we were breath ing pretty rarefied air. Now we had on the $1,000 champ ly Sunday in San Fra ionship stake to go. ncisco dawned typ That would come on Sunday afternoon ically cold and dam I fed Ronteza, cleane p. , when the top thr d her stall, and led ee Light Weight and the top three her outside so tha she could loosen up Heavy Weight horse t and s bre fac ath ed e some cold, damp off for the championship, so (while I shivered bes fresh air I had a day and a ide her). We walke half to walk aimles d for about an hour. sly around the sho w grounds. As usual, I always avoided passing by the win dow where the han dtooled Bill Maloy trophy saddle waited .

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the talk all over the Co w Palace and San Francisco was abo ut Ronteza. Our story was covered on San Francisco television that nig ht, but the tiny hotel room where my mother and I were staying didn’t have a TV. It is ver y doubtful we would have watch ed anyway. Waiting for Sunday, we were simply trying to sta y warm, and didn’t realize what was goi ng on in the outside world. I wa s single-minded on what was coming, and my mother wa s at my side, quietly supportive.

Ron

teza at the Cow Pal At specified hours ace, 1961.

We were riding for during the day, the the Reined Cow Ho rse Championship. rodeo’s different dis ciplines were assign ed time to work in a ver y small outsid Then the morning e arena. I rode Ro dragged on. In som nteza out there, and as I had done at ho e ways I wa nted the afternoon to com me, gave her head e and in some wa and we just trotted around and around ys I was filled wit h an xiety that in the little square no matter what I , which was about feet wide and long. did, the afternoon 75 would eventually The other trainers arr ive. Finally tw were warming up their horses, spinn o o’c lock came, and announcements bla ing and loping or red over the stabli working on proble Ronteza and I just ng area cal ling ms. for the Grand En trotted, she wearing try to get ready; tha her spade bit. Then t would beg in the last session of the last day of the 196 1 show. I saddled 214 | AR AB IAN HO RSE TIM ES

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A Lifetime With Arabians Ronteza, Part III

by Sheila Varian When we last saw Ronteza in part II of her story (see January 2010, page 271), it was a Friday night in October 1961, and she and I had just won the Light Weight class for reined cow horses at the Cow Palace. As I mentioned then, that competition at the Cow Palace’s Grand National Rodeo was the granddaddy of events for reined cow horses in those days. No Arabian and no woman had won it at the time Ronteza and I topped the Light Weight division, so we were breathing pretty rarefied air. Now we had only the $1,000 championship stake to go. That would come on Sunday afternoon, when the top three Light Weight and the top three Heavy Weight horses faced off for the championship, so I had a day and a half to walk aimlessly around the show grounds. As usual, I always avoided passing by the window where the handtooled Bill Maloy trophy saddle waited.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the talk all over the Cow Palace and San Francisco was about Ronteza. Our story was covered on San Francisco television that night, but the tiny hotel room where my mother and I were staying didn’t have a TV. It is very doubtful we would have watched anyway. Waiting for Sunday, we were simply trying to stay warm, and didn’t realize what was going on in the outside world. I was single-minded on what was coming, and my mother was at my side, quietly supportive.

Sunday in San Francisco dawned typically cold and damp.

I fed Ronteza, cleaned her stall, and led her outside so that she could loosen up and breathe some cold, damp fresh air (while I shivered beside her). We walked for about an hour.

Ronteza at the Cow Palace, 1961.

We were riding for the Reined Cow Horse Championship.

At specified hours during the day, the rodeo’s different disciplines were assigned time to work in a very small outside arena. I rode Ronteza out there, and as I had done at home, gave her head and we just trotted around and around in the little square, which was about 75 feet wide and long. The other trainers were warming up their horses, spinning and loping or working on problems.

Ronteza and I just trotted, she wearing her spade bit. Then 214 | AR ABIAN HORSE TIMES

as now, when I finish a horse in a spade or half-breed bit—I mean a horse that is completely finished—I do not go back to a hackamore or a different training bit. Once the horse is solid in a spade or shanked curb bit, they’ve spent several years in preparation, and when they are as good as I can get them, then I ride in the bit that they like and work best in.

Then the morning dragged on. In some ways I wanted the afternoon to come and in some ways I was filled with anxiety that no matter what I did, the afternoon would eventually arrive. Finally two o’clock came, and announcements blared over the stabling area calling for the Grand Entry to get ready; that would begin the last session of the last day of the 1961 show. I saddled

A Lifetime With Arabians slowly, murmured my nursery rhymes, and brushed Ronteza’s starting-to-winter coat until we had just 20 minutes before riding to the gate.

Ronteza and I had worked for five years to get to this cold day in October. Heart pounding, I led her through the busy Cow Palace hallway for the last time, slipping through the hundreds of Grand Entry horses, the bull and bronc riders with their batwing chaps, the ropers swinging their ropes on big, stout Quarter Horses, and the cowboys pushing bucking horses and bulls down the ramp behind us and into the arena chutes— everyone moving, stretching, laughing and talking.

In that chaos, Ronteza and I stepped back against the wall, still and quiet and breathless. Years later, my dear old friend Greg Ward, who has since become known in the Quarter Horse world as the horseman’s horseman, told me, “You were cool as ice, Sheila.” Little did he know, if I had got off Ronteza at that time, I would have collapsed.

On the Sunday afternoon of the championship, there was no steer that could get by Ronteza.

Then the judge, Dick Deller, handed out a new set of instructions. As the winner of the Light Weight class, I was slated to go in first; the gate swung open for me the third and final time, and Ronteza and I trotted into the blinding brilliance of the celebrated Cow Palace arena.

Every seat filled, the cheering crowd took her to their hearts for every reason: She was not a Quarter Horse,

she was ridden by a girl, she had fallen while working her cow in the Light Weight class, and even with the fall the judge had placed her first. She had become everybody’s Cinderella horse. But if the crowd was deafening, Ronteza and I never heard. I’ve been told those 10,000 people had eyes only for the bay Arabian and the blond girl. Could be, I just don’t recall.

The run was a replay of the two before. The feeling of perfection was so intense, I remember thinking I could have asked Ronteza to make her first run to the top of the auditorium seats and she would have done it easily. Her mouth felt as soft as cutting warm butter with a knife—just as Little Horse’s mouth had felt when rancher and cavalry veterinarian Doc Spencer had said, “Sheila, saddle Little Horse and help Sid gather the cattle.” That was the first time in my life I had picked up the reins and felt the mouth of a true spade bit horse. Now I was riding one, a spade bit horse I had trained myself—a horse that in her lifetime no one else had ridden. We had done what we had done by ourselves. For better or for worse, good or bad, Ronteza had learned from me and I had learned from her.

When I led imperceptibly with my shoulder, Ronteza knew the direction we were going to start our figure eight. All I had to do was sit right in the middle of her, and at a turn of my head so subtle that it couldn’t be seen, Ronteza would follow my lead. When I thought about making a round circle, Ronteza read my thoughts through my body. Our figure eight lead changes were so smooth you could barely see them. When we made our run to the end of the arena for the first stop, she burned full out the entire way. Her stop was caught in a photograph by George Axt that for many years was considered the classic bridle horse slide, with the horse’s mouth closed, the line of her body straight, everything in balance, her front legs walking as she slid hard to a stop. Ronteza was precise and exact and smooth and solid and true, my little bay mare with the heart of gold.

At the end of our figure eights, runs, slides and spins, all the conditioning—the miles of trotting that I had done with her—was paying off. Breathing hard but still strong FEBRUARY 2010 | 215

A Lifetime With Arabians and not out of wind, we trotted back to the end of the arena, where I nodded to accept our steer. Again, with a new steer, Ronteza boxed it on the end of the arena with firm, strong efforts that showed she could hold a cow on that back fence (or any back fence in the world). Again, for the third time, we let our cow slide over to the wall for its escape to freedom and our demonstration of a true and finely-trained reined cow horse’s control. And for the third time, she slid in front of her cow and twice pushed it back up the wall. We were ready to do our final wrapup. Without a moment’s hesitation or insecurity from the fall two nights before, Ronteza, head down and pushing hard, shoved her cow into a circle to the left and then to the right. Then Judge Dick Deller waved his arm and the whistle blew, and five years of dreaming and imagining and work were complete.

From the 60-plus original entries, six of us were left on Sunday afternoon. Each ran a dry pattern, then called for a cow and put in every effort they had left. We all

In the championship at the Cow Palace: the classic George Axt shot of Ronteza’s sliding stop.

made a run for the honor of “Winning the World,” as the championship at the Cow Palace was affectionately called. After all these years, I can’t recall exactly who the other finalists were, other than Johnny Brazil, because he had won the Heavy Weight division, but they were all legendary. I had sort of worshipped them from afar and hadn’t got to know them personally yet, so the names have faded in my mind over time. Or maybe it is just that I remember only the exhaustion.

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All of us were tired, but the men had shown in the Cow Palace before so they knew the procedure. We stood in a line as a red carpet was rolled out into the arena and the announcer blared an introduction of the officials. A crowd of people carrying ribbons, a blanket, and trophies gathered for the presentation—and someone carried out the beautiful Bill Maloy saddle that I had so carefully avoided walking by for four days.

And finally, after a hushed moment, the announcer called out my number—Ronteza’s number—to the excitement of all 10,000 cheering people: Champion of the Reined Cow Horse Championship! We had “Won the World,” my little Arabian mare and I. Ronteza, who had ignored the bumping and pushing of the over-populated back gate, the blazing-bright lights of the arena, and the roaring crowd the three times she had followed the dry pattern perfectly and then worked her cow, who had been unfazed through the fall—who had done it all single-mindedly—was finally as emotionally spent as I. She stood timidly as the flashing cameras recorded a first for the Reined Cow Horse Championship at the Cow Palace. Ronteza, who was willing to give her life to head a cow, looked at that huge trophy and the people holding it proudly for the photo—and finally was a trembling, frightened filly, out of her element of dust and dirt and cows. The spotlight was not something either of us had trained for. We had trained alone, together, just the two of us.

When I was confused about what to ask of her, I got off and sat on a stump or a log until I could figure it out. Everything had always been alone and quiet, and now, suddenly, we were surrounded by people, noise and lights.

My mind was blank. I couldn’t have told you my name. A picture of us from that moment shows Ronteza leaning away, her eyes rolling, as the officials walked toward her with all of the winnings.

As we left the arena, we were met by a sea of people who had rushed down out of the stands to pet Ronteza and touch me, and we were asked to stand for more pictures. Now I laugh when I look at those photos, which show a little, winter-coated, emotionally-spent Arabian mare, with this shell-shocked person on her back. I could see my mother far away, but the world at the moment seemed a dream.

A Lifetime With Arabians

To Ronteza, the championship trophy was frightening.

The cattle, she understood.

Eventually we were able to move away, down the hallway to the stabling area, and I led Ronteza to her stall, pulled off the saddle, and lay down in her stall to rest. An hour or so later, my mom and I loaded up the trophies, the blanket and my new Bill Maloy saddle, and drove quietly home. We had been in the city a long time; I had to be ready to teach school the next day.

After the show, it was traditional (however, unknown to me) that Mr. Dana, a big supporter of reined cow horses, put on a party for all the cow horse people. Of course, the winners always would go. I had no idea, so by the time the party for the winner of the Reined Cow Horse Championship was in full swing, my mother and I, with tired little Ronteza in the trailer, were heading south down the highway to Arroyo Grande. I had accomplished what I had come for, but I couldn’t feel the pleasure yet.

We just needed to reach the comfort and quiet of home.

I would show Ronteza again. There was still Salinas waiting, but in 1961, there was only one Cow Palace.

There, Ronteza had proved what she was made of.

Through the years, Ronteza would be appreciated and spoken of with admiration by the trainers I was too shy to talk to during that cold October week. Bobby Ingersoll, who was inducted into the National Reined Cow Horse Association Hall of Fame, included Ronteza—the only Arabian—in his beautiful coffee-table book The Legendary California Hackamore and Stock Horse.

And Johnny Brazil, another NRCHA Hall of Famer, used to say, “The only horse I couldn’t beat was that little bay Arab mare of Sheila Varian’s.” Ronteza gave Arabian

Outside the arena, Ronteza and I stood for more photographs.

We were both simply worn out.

horses a boost in the reined cow horse world I have always loved.

For some time, Ronteza and I were well known mainly in the open reined cow horse world. That is a world I still frequent, although I’m no longer traveling the reined cow horse circuit; I am riding on ranches with my Varian-bred horses, as well as doing seminars using my ranch horses and demonstrations on training using the hackamore through the two-rein to straight up in the bridle. To this day, when I’m around the Quarter Horse world, I always run into someone who tells me, “I was at the Cow Palace when your Arab mare won the championship. What a great little mare!”

She was, indeed. ■ Next month: Honored by the trainers who had competed against her, Ronteza retires to her role as the dam of national champions.

Sheila Varian, of Arroyo Grande, Calif., has bred, trained and shown Arabians for more than half a century. Now in its ninth generation, the Varian Arabians program is a dynasty of her bloodlines, with national champions in nearly every division. She has been a leading breeder at Scottsdale and the U.S. Nationals many times, and in 2008 received the USEF/Performance Horse Registry Leading Breeder Award, a selection made over all breeds. Sheila’s own record includes U.S. and Canadian National Championships in halter, English, park, stock horse, and western. She is a recognized authority in the equine industry as a whole, and was inducted into the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Fort Worth, Texas, in 2003. Her techniques for socializing and training horses are based on the “soft approach” of the legendary Tom Dorrance, with whom she was close friends from their introduction in the 1960s until his death in 2003.

For more information on Varian Arabians, and its April Spring Fling and August Summer Jubilee weekends, please go to www.varianarabians.com.

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