Max: Origin Story

 

 

Our first portrait together.

On June 25th, Michele sent a text to the friends group. It said: "Figured I’d let you all know, a good friend of mine from polo, is looking to rehome this grade QH gelding that’s not working out for polo."

The text included these two photos:

See anything amiss in this picture? 
As an aside, this is actually not Max, but another horse that looks a lot like him. (The white feet don't match.) I'm glad because this horse is gaping its mouth in all its polo photos, which Max thankfully doesn't seem to do.

This one is actually Max.

I jokingly replied, "Is this my sign to trade up?" We all laughed.

As my inner circle knows, I've been joking that my next mount would be a nice, quiet quarter horse gelding. In fact, any time one of the girls would do something questionable, I'd turn to my pals and say, "I'm ready for that quarter horse I ordered now."

I even went so far as to describe a chestnut with a white blaze. I sort of laid off on that once I got Chip, but I did comment that his blaze doesn't really count. And that he's the wrong shade of chestnut. I like the copper penny variety.

This is your reminder to be careful what you put out to the universe. You may get exactly what you wished for. 

The details on Max were as follows: 

• Eight years old
  
• 15.2hh
• Quiet ride
• Strikes the ball which is a big no-no in polo
• Free to a good home

Four days later, my world turned inside out and I ultimately lost custody of the girls. The next week was spent ugly crying in interrogation rooms, avoiding felony charges, lawyering up, and photographing an endurance ride. (Go big or go home, am I right?) 

In addition to the very real emotional turmoil of the situation, I was now also faced with a void that would need to be filled. 

If I didn't have Chip, I may have thrown in the towel on horses entirely.

That's probably not true. I don't think my friends would have let me give up that easily. I cannot emphasize enough what an incredible village I have. The offers to ride horses came pouring in even before the dust had settled. I never even got as far as posting an "ISO" on Facebook. 

If Chip was of riding age, I may have been content with just one pony. We still have a year to go before I'll hitch him to a cart, and two to go before I'll sit on him (assuming he gets big enough for me tor ride).

It may seem impulsive to go pick up a new horse just ten days after everything happened, but the reality is that I needed something I could pony Chip off of. Something that Bonnie could follow down trail would be a bonus. 

Selfishly, I didn't want to miss out on all the fun things my friends are getting up to these days. Pretty much all of my friends are horse people at this point. 

Also, I turn into a very cranky lady pretty fast if I don't ride. 

I figured it wouldn't hurt to go look at this free polo pony. If he was halfway decent, I could pick him up, ride him for a few weeks, and then sell him if he wasn't a good match. 

Mike, of course, was super supportive. I think he felt pretty helpless throughout this whole situation. Poor guy just wants to see me happy.

The Friend of the Year award definitely goes to Hannah this year. Not only did she take me in when shit hit the fan, she has wholeheartedly embraced my insanity and actively encouraged me to literally get back in the saddle. 

I was really second guessing myself about going to look at Max. Hannah finally said, "He's free. Just go get him. If you don't, I might."

That settled it. 

I reached out to Michele to see if Max was still available and get his owner's contact information. Max belonged to the manager of the local polo club and his super sweet wife. The wife is the one I spoke to on the phone. I will now call them Mr. and Mrs. Polo.

She filled me in on Max's backstory.

Max's story begins in Philadelphia, where he belonged to an older Black gentleman. It sounds like Max was ridden on the city streets, particularly during the pandemic. 

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, Max stepped on a nail. His owner, recognizing that this was serious and that he did not have the resources to treat it properly, reached out to his close friend and president of the polo club. (This is different from the manager of the polo club.)

And so Max moved over to the polo stables, where he was successfully rehabbed. Somewhere along the line, his owner went into a nursing home and then passed away. 

(The dark side of me mentally said, "Ok, so no former owner is coming for him?")

Luckily for Max, the polo people are very kind-hearted and kept him despite his lack of financial backing. Thus, Max became a polo pony. From stalking the club's Facebook page, it looks like he played at least two seasons. This is good news because it means he was actually broke to ride and that he was truly sound after the nail incident. (Polo horses are vetted before their matches.) 

Before I had this blog, I actually worked at a farm that had polo horses. It wasn't the best place in the world, but the polo ponies were all amazing. I've long said that I'd love to get my hands on a retired polo pony.

Polo ponies are used to ponying and being ponied. They do well in groups. They tend to be handy and sure footed with good brakes and excellent neck reining ability. They're used to tying for long periods of time and being trailered all over the place.

This particular club does a good job of doing cross training with their horses as well. My stalking revealed that many of their horses go to the beach in the winter and attend hunter paces in their spare time. 

While Mrs. Polo wasn't 100% sure on the details of everything Max has done, she seemed very sweet and honest. 

From my digging, it looks like Max's last match was in the fall of 2025.

This one is actually Max.

It sounds like Max did fine as a polo pony, but his heart wasn't in it, and it became clear he wasn't enjoying it any more. I didn't get details on what that means, but once the ball striking started, he got pulled from the string.

Since then, Max has mostly been sitting. One of the club's exercise riders has a thirteen year old daughter who has occasionally ridden Max. Mrs. Polo emphasized that she's a good-riding kid and that she's not claiming he's beginner safe. 

Mrs. Polo was quite fond of him. She said she would have loved to keep him as a pet. However, they had too many horses and not enough space. While there were stalls for everyone, Max was on the backburner and there were some days when he didn't get turn out. 

Then the club manager found a nice new polo pony that needed to come home. This meant they needed a stall. Someone had to go.

Mrs. Polo said it came down to Max or her old, retired polo pony. She wanted to get rid of the older pony and keep Max, but then she felt guilty.

"He's young. He likes to work. He deserves to have a job and his own person to spoil him. I think he'd love to be someone's pet and primary riding horse. It would be selfish to keep him and not ride him."

Now, of course, I had quite a bit of PTSD from losing the mares, and I will forever be suspicious of anything that seems too good to be true. I decided to lay my cards on the table. 

I prefaced my speech with, "It's not you, it's everyone else," then gave Mrs. Polo the abridged version of what I'd been through. "My point is I am looking to own my next horse outright." We had already established that Max is grade and there are no papers that anybody knows of. "I will need a bill of sale."

"Oh yes, of course! If you want, you can give me a dollar to make it official."

This phone call took place on Monday. We set up an appointment for me to meet Max that Wednesday, July 8th. 

"Is it ok if I bring my trailer?" I asked.
"Of course!"

Mike asked me what the deal breakers would be for bringing this horse home. The bar was pretty low. 

• Lameness
• Terrible feet
• Bucking, bolting, rearing
• Extreme back soreness
• Any mean behaviors on the ground (biting, kicking, etc.)
• Setting back when tied

That was it. As long as there wasn't something dreadfully wrong with this horse, I would bring him home and give him a shot. It would give me something to do.

The farm address was on a familiar stretch of road near Horseshoe Bend. We knew we'd found the right place when we saw a polo pony being ridden in lovely loopy canter circles in the front field. We parked our rig next to the polo trailer in the main driveway.

The vibe these folks gave off was sparkly clean and I relaxed immediately. Of course, it helps that Michele grew up next door to Mrs. Polo so I felt like I knew them already. This club also has an impeccable reputation in the community and does a lot to give back. I had no doubt they were representing the horse honestly, and I tried not to be suspicious over his lack of price tag.

Mr. Polo, a man of seemingly few words, greeted us with a warm smile and firm handshakes. He would be teaching a lesson while we tried Max, but he told us to make ourselves at home and give him a shout if we needed anything. 

Mrs. Polo was an utter delight and I whispered to Mike that she could be my adopted grandmother. She was warm and witty and bubbly. I loved her immediately and have stayed in touch since.

She led us back to the barns while chattering happily and giving us the history of the property.

In the main barn, I found a tidy aisle with clean, well-lit stalls, full of polo ponies that looked relaxed while they munched their evening hay. A few of the ponies were a little leaner than I like, but I later learned they were elderly horses being used for beginner lessons. I liked that they seem to keep many of their horses even after their careers are over. Each horse had a name plate on its stall which I also took as a good sign. 

The last stall on the right was Max, and I'll admit that my initial response was disappointment. In a word, I found him plain and a little bit ugly.

Mike later chastised me and said, "He's not ugly. He's just a generic horse." Yeah. Generic horse. Generic name. Meh.

What greeted me was an unattractive head with no forelock to speak of on a body with no topline and a rather pronounced ewe neck. He had a slight hunter's bump, though he did not palpate sore at all on his back. The tail was skimpy and sad. The horse seemed polite enough but he paid me no mind as I inspected him. I ran my hands down his legs which were nice and clean.

Then I picked up his feet and nearly didn't pursue him any further. The feet were chipped, asymmetrical, and smelled of thrush. The heels were overgrown and the frogs were nonexistent. 

"He had front shoes when we were riding him," Mrs. Polo explained. 

I gave myself an internal pep talk. I have a very good farrier. I've seen horses with worse feet be sound barefoot. If he needed shoes for a while, that would be ok. 

He's free, I reminded myself.

We haltered Max and led him out of the barn. He came politely at a very pokey walk. I told myself that a little dull would be better than a fire breathing dragon.

First photo of Max. 

I asked Mrs. Polo if Max knew how to lunge. I wanted to see him move before I got on.

"I'm not sure. We can ask Mr. Polo. I think so. He'll definitely jog in hand."

That was all the permission I needed. The driveway featured some fine pebbles. Not quite gravel, but enough to exacerbate any foot soreness. I picked up a jog and Max trotted obediently behind me on a loose lead (this was also a point in his favor.) Mike watched him go and gave me a discreet thumbs up. 

At the trailers, I said, "I assume he ties?"
"Of course!"

And it was true. Max ties extremely well. In fact, if you leave him tied for more than a minute or two, he cocks a foot and goes right to sleep. (I later learned that he does weave in the cross ties, but by then he'd earned his keep enough that I was willing to overlook one of my most hated vices.) 

I brought my own saddle to try Max, but Mrs. Polo informed me that he normally goes in a Pelham, so I asked to borrow a bridle. We had a good laugh when Mr. Polo brought over his breastplate, full polo bridle, and martingale in one big heap. 

"You're going to think I've never ridden a horse," I joked, "but I'm an endurance rider. I just have a bit hanger that slips over a rope halter."

Mr. Polo graciously bridled Max for me and it looked like he was a good boy for that too. 

I have done my usual bridle training with Max since he came home. Just like everyone else I own, he now opens his mouth for the bit when he sees it coming. Before he got the point, he just put together that bridle equals cookie (not sure why) and would adorably flap his lips with excitement while awaiting further instruction. The first time he did it, the icy shell around my heart started to crack.

Mr. Polo led Max over to the mounting block and lined him up for me. I noticed that took a little bit of shoving, but he seemed happy to stand still. I looked like an idiot again when Max unexpectedly stepped towards me as I swung my leg over. I nearly toppled off the far side. (I swear I've ridden before!)

Max now picks me up at whatever object I use as a mounting block. He was a very quick study for this too.

I went on to have a short ride with Max (under one mile). I was only on him for abut half an hour.

The ride was nothing to write home about. We walked around and he was pokey but obedient. He neck reined very well but was also responsive to direct rein. He had excellent brakes and was happy to stand around as long as needed. He had no concept of contact, which was to be expected. 

The other horse in the lesson was cantering around and the rider was swinging his mallet. Max did want to magnet towards the other horse and the barn a little bit, but he was easily redirected.

When I picked up a trot, I wasn't sure he was 100% sound. He was also a giraffe. He did have a nice quarter horse jog that I could easily sit, but also moved out into a bigger trot if I posted bigger. In fact, he could really cover some ground with a little effort. I wasn't too worried about the trot. Trots I can fix.

It took a little convincing to get him to canter without a whip, but when he got it, my face lit up. Even though he was a little unbalanced and inverted, the canter was very comfortable to sit and had an even cadence on a loose rein. That was the moment I decided I'd give him a try. 

There aren't too many horses I would walk, trot, canter in an open field next to the road within minutes of meeting them, but I was able to do it with Max. That was all I needed to know.

As usual, I went to look at a horse that didn't really check any of my boxes and went home with it. They always seem to find me just when I need them.

Our first photo together.

First between the ears photo.

Mrs. Polo gave us some space to discuss. I asked Mike if we needed to talk about it. "Not really. I trust your judgment."

"I don't think I'd pay money for this horse, but I'm willing to take a chance on him for a dollar..." I concluded.

Mrs. Polo was very amused by Mike giving her a dollar. This is the first time Mike has bought me a horse LOL. 

We got everything in writing and then went to load Max.

"He's only been in a stock trailer. I hope he gets on," Mrs. Polo fretted. 

"I'm actually not worried at all about whether he loads or not. Trailer loading I can fix."

We needn't have worried. Max took one short look at my ramp then self loaded right into my trailer!

"I think he picked you!" Mrs. Polo exclaimed. 

I texted the group chat. "The polo pony is no longer available. He's in my trailer right now."

It wasn't until we got most of the way back to the farm that I realized there were going to be fireworks at the park that night. I briefly wondered if I should have waited to bring Max home. Then I decided that if he can't handle fireworks, he's not the horse for me anyway. 

That night, we put Max in the little paddock next to Mulberry. He was perfectly content and acted like he'd been there his entire life. We did discover that he's a vacuum when it comes to hay.

This body would change a lot in the coming weeks.

I got a night check photo after the fireworks were over. Max hadn't cared at all. I also got a photo the following morning to say that he'd survived the night.

Not as worried as he looks.

The first two weeks with Max were mostly about getting him settled in. 

I sticked him and he's 15.1hh, which is perfect. He's so much bigger bodied than my mares were and has a lot more neck, which is a better fit for me.

From looking at his teeth, it's possible he is actually eight, but I think he may be closer to ten. Age is just a number and it doesn't really matter to me, but I would love to know more about his past.

A few days after he arrived, we turned him out with Usidore in the top pasture. He is very happy to have 24/7 turn out and a friend. I only bring him in to feed. I am feeding him a ton. While he's not skinny, I do want him to fill out a bit so he has some extra weight to build muscle from.

Max did come up pretty foot sore in the first week. This wasn't really a surprise since he went from being shod to being stalled most of the time. Between the thrush, the gravel driveway, and the constant stomping at flies, I wasn't surprised he was lame.

About two weeks in, my farrier came out to trim him. There was a good amount of bruising in the front feet and we agreed to tack shoes up front. The difference was night and day and I took Max out for his first trail ride the following afternoon. 

Since then, he has been happy and sound. I plan to keep the shoes on until the ground is about to freeze, then pull them off before winter. I've never actually had a horse in metal shoes before, and I'll admit it's rather convenient. I still want to get him barefoot/booted in the long run because it's definitely better for their feet, but the shoes have been so easy!

I did have Mike take some "before" photos of our first ring ride together. I'm going to present them for posterity. 

Inverted, but honest.

He seems to like the snaffle.

Look at that under neck...

I have been doing 100 miles of walking with Max. He probably doesn't need it, but I'm determined not to screw him up. I'll blog about some of the individual rides in the coming weeks, but so far Max has been an absolute rock star and I'm in love with him already. 

We are at 87 miles and change and Max's body has already improved. His ewe neck is gone and he's starting to build a topline and butt. I'm trying to juggle building weight while riding him a lot. His coat, which is the exact right shade of chestnut, has really started to gleam.

I feel bad I ever called him ugly.

A more recent photo.

In the six weeks since I've gotten him, Max has really earned his keep. I have ridden him bareback, used him to pony Chip, taken him out with Bonnie, used him to set up a NACMO course, taken him swimming, and ridden him into downtown for coffee. I have lots of plans and dreams for him, but mostly I'm just enjoying the get-to-know-you phase. 

I cannot believe I got this horse for a dollar. Then again, the universe really owed me an apology. 

Here's to new beginnings.