Welcome to
Gate Farm Home of
"Diamond C
Montana Jack"
Leslie Heulitt
HC 78 Box 27
Rock Cave, West Virginia 26234
304-924-6176
e-mail to:
montanasmama@hughes.net
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August
14, 1997 WHAT
I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION The
decision to take Montana to the 6th Annual Great Celebration Mule and Donkey
Show at Shelbyville, TN was made in late May.
First Montana was clipped and taken for a test run at a local horse
show to see how he behaved in public. As
per usual, Montana was a perfect gentleman, and a big hit, even placing fifth
in the trail class. Two weeks
later poor Montana was body clipped again, hauled to Dave Hefner's for four
new shoes and some assistance to get those big ears and touchy feet clipped.
The whole time Dave and I worked on Montana Terry Riffel just couldn't
keep his hands off that little jack swearing the whole time that he wouldn't
be caught dead on a donkey! Finished
with Montana, Dave and I are loading hay when low and behold who comes out of
the barn riding Montana with just a halter and lead but "I wouldn't be
caught dead on a donkey", Terry Riffel.
Next little MaryBeth Sims is onboard and Jan Hefner snaps this photo
for posterity. July
16th we're loaded and on the road by 7:00 a.m.
Driving into the sun I look in vain for a shady spot to rest Montana.
Aside from short stops to fuel up it's nonstop until dark.
By the time I pull into Shelbyville I'm so tired I miss the giant
flashing sign for the arena, so after a minor 50 mile detour I finally find
the facility. The gate guards
direct me to my barn where there is already a mule in our stall.
My papers are on the next stall; that's OK, I'm too tired to care.
No bedding in this stall so I drag two bales of shavings off the truck,
bed down the stall, hang up a hay net, pack in a bucket of water and then
realize there is no top gate on this stall!
Boys will by boys and I know Montana could make kindling out of that
gate if some cute molly mule walks by. Back
out to the gate guard to get another barn assignment.
Finally get Montana settled in and head back to the camp ground, where
the gate guard informs me there is no camping in your trailers.
"Yes sir," I say, thinking I'm going to park, sleep and deal
with this in the morning. Parking
could be a problem, had only had my trailer a month.
The going forward part was easy, backing up I still was having trouble
with. Actually I had avoided any
situation where I had to back up until now.
Pull into the empty side of the camp, am too tired to even back up in a
straight line. A gentleman
appears and in a soft southern drawl asks if I need some help.
At this point I am more than grateful to turn over truck and trailer,
chat for a few moments and go to bed. I
have no self esteem problems, but is was intimidating going to this big show
so far from home by myself. Not to worry, mule people are a lot different than
some show circles I've traveled in. By
the light of day things looked even more intimidating; big rigs and splendid
animals everywhere but people were so helpful and friendly I soon relaxed and
was having a grand time! Linda
Osland offers to ride Montana in the trail class.
At 8 a.m. Linda and Montana, total strangers, make a grand ride only to
be disqualified for inappropriate tack. We
appreciate that the judge lets them finish the pattern.
Next it's my turn. Linda
gives me a 10 minute crash course on how to show your jack in hand.
Loans me a real spiffy halter and in we go.
Now Montana is nothing to sneeze at but we're talking some stiff
competition here, including a BLM burro who was as good a jack as I've ever
seen. Montana placed third out of
twelve. I was so thrilled, if I
hadn't had a hold of him, I surely would have floated out of that arena!
By the time the color class came up that arena must have been 120
degrees. I'm thinking a body has
to be masochistic to do this and if they do one more circle I'm going to pass
out. If the truth be known,
Montana showed me in that class. He
was feeling frisky and was very interested in the sweet little molly mule in
front of us. Thank God training
triumphed over hormones and we took 5th out of 14 and exited the arena without
incident. For
sure, the highlight of the show was leading the Parade of States on Montana
with the big ol' WV flag. By Saturday I was pretty burned out and had decided
to forego the parade but was talked back into doing it by Doug Herndon.
Ivy came and held the flag for me and there we were in the staging area
again. Now being a novice at all
this I assumed WV would go in last or so.
You see Montana does not neck rein and I figured I could pull this off
by following the mule in front of me and keeping Montana against the rail with
my leg. Well, you know what
happens when you assume something. Found
out it's all by the numbers and guess who had the lowest number?
Yep, that's right! There
was going to be no mule to follow; WV was leading the parade.
He must have sensed my fright and turned to leave as soon as they
called our name. Someone grabbed
his head and pointed him toward the arena.
I laid the spurs to him and in we went.
Montana "pussy-footed" out with eyes rolling.
People were cheering, cameras were flashing and I'm thinking "I'm
dead and the good ol' boys will talk about this for years!"
As soon as the first long-legged mule went by Montana just followed it
and we were fine. God sure does
look after fools! By
10:00 p.m. Saturday we're loaded and off to Ann Quinn's Dream Maker Farm in
Niangua, Missouri. Ann had
graciously offered to teach Montana to be artificially collected and me how to
handle and ship fresh cooled semen. We
drive 'til 1:00 a.m., sleep 'til dawn when I hear a soft southern voice say
"Gud mawnin' hossy". Time
to move on. Buzzing along Rt. 40
through Memphis I suddenly find myself on the surface streets; must have
blinked. It was a deserted
warehouse type area, no one in sight. No
sooner do I step out of the truck and a police cruiser goes by.
I flag him down, explain I was on 40 and all of a sudden was here -
could he point me back to 40, please. He
hesitated a moment and says "just follow me".
So I get a police escort through Memphis.
It was great; went through some really fancy neighborhoods. Since I
just had to follow the cruiser, I got to gawk at all the beautiful homes and
admire the landscaping. Had
left Memphis behind and was travelling west on 55 through the boot heel of
Missouri when I hear a clanking. Upon
investigation I find an exhaust pipe dragging.
Didn't have any wire but did have Montana's stud chain so I chained the
broken pipe to the good one and we're off again.
Not long after that I look in my right side mirror and I'm smoking!
White smoke is bellowing out from the right rear wheel.
I'm thinking "looks serious, no stud chain gonna fix this
puppy". Once again I
investigate, find oil all over the exhaust pipes blowing back from where?
All fluid levels and gauges are fine.
Slowly drive to the next truck stop where the diesel mechanic calls a
regular mechanic to look at the truck; "gonna be 'bout an hour".
The heat index is 110 and full sun beats down on 5 acres of concrete.
Montana is going to cook in that trailer.
People sure can be nice. The
only spot of shade on the whole place is under the canopy between the diesel
pumps and the restaurant. That's
where they suggest we park so Montana would be comfortable.
The mechanic told me I needed a transmission cooler and if I stayed
under 45 would probably make Niangua. Was
planning to take Rt. 60 anyway to see some of the country.
Wasn't planning to do it at 40 mph but we did and after another loooong
day of driving hit Niangua at 11:30 p.m.
By some miracle I drove right to Ann's farm in the dark.
We settle Montana in and go to bed.
Back
in barn at 7:00 a.m., feed and water all the horses and collect Ann's
stallions. Montana is next.
Montana takes to this like a duck to water, bless his heart, and it
gets easier every day. It was a
busy week. Anyone that can keep
up with Ann Quinn all day will find their heels smokin' at night.
We collected the boys, A.I.'d mares and scoped and shipped semen every
day. I even got to watch Ann's
vet, Dr. Roger Cole, do an embryo transplant.
We never did find an embryo but the procedure was fascinating.
I did take some time to visit Bennie Coleman. I got to ride his super
jack, "Firecracker". Thanks
Bennie! Well,
the truck was fixed and the week almost over and I was homesick.
Missouri sure is the "show me" state and I loved it out there
but it was time to head home to the cool green mountains of West Virginia.
From the other side of the mountain,
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