MY “LIFE RELATIONSHIPS” with horses started after childhood, but I had wanted a pony as far back as I can remember. As a child of the 1950s and of a father who was a pioneer in television, I was never unaware of the impact of the TV western in my life. It fed my need for horseflesh at an addictive rate. This ultimately alarmed my parents. We were urban-bound and landlocked on three sides, so to slip a pony into the backyard would have been quite impossible without the fabric of the neighborhood coming apart at the seams. Of course, I knew and actually understood the problem, but I refused to let the pressure off my parents. They tried valiantly with riding lessons and trips to dude ranches during school vacations, but it was never enough.
My first horse, unlike the Will James book of the same name, arrived during my early twenties. She was a young liver chestnut Quarter Horse mare with a flaxen mane and tail and was, if in my eyes alone, perfect. I should have sensed some trouble when it took us three hours to load her into a neighbor’s trailer. It required all sorts of ropes and pulleys, with lots of yelling and screaming, but we got her in. My adventure had begun.
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I met Buck Brannaman in 1985. He was at a local arena in Malibu, California, and to see a Montana cowboy work with a bunch of hunter/jumper riders was a sight I didn’t want to miss. I had heard a little bit about Buck from my friend Chas Weldon, the legendary saddlemaker in Billings, Montana. Chas spoke quite highly of him, and said he was designed to ride horses. When I first saw Buck, I knew Chas was right. Buck is three-quarters leg, the kind of rider who can touch his heels under the belly of a horse at the lope. I later found out that he was rather short going through high school, but grew a full six inches in his senior year, which landed him on the basketball team. Is he tall? The man could hunt geese with a rake.
The first time you see Buck ride is a moment of lasting impression. It isn’t just the way he sits a horse, although that in itself is rather impressive. As he rides, he seems to disappear into the action. People speak of “becoming one with” something. Buck doesn’t ride a horse, he merges with it. The essence of this merger is a friendly takeover.
I’ve seen him ride hundreds of different horses, and it happens every time. There is a moment when these two beings open doors to each other and communication happens. He creates an environment—unique to each horse he rides—that enables the two of them to work together. It still astounds me every time I see him ride a new colt. Each one is different, each is unique, and that’s how he treats them. If this sounds like a good way to be with people, you’re catching on.
Buck has done more good for families, as well as their horses, than any man I know. He does this by getting people to slow down and listen: listen to their horses, their kids, their husbands, and their wives. He is about respecting others, whether they are people or horses—they’re all the same to him.
THE FARAWAY HORSES opens a door into the life of Buck Brannaman. He has chosen to open it and let us all in. In his own words, he takes you through his difficult childhood and his youth growing up in a foster home. It is the story of a life of discovery, of pain and tragedy, and of finding one’s way and then giving back to the ones who saved him. For Buck, it was horses. The horses saved his life.
These stories make up a significant young man’s life, a young man who changes for the better the lives of every horse and rider he comes in contact with. I am proud to call him my friend and to have worked on this book. Quite simply, we need a lot more like him.
Bill Reynolds
Santa Ynez, California
2001